Love at first strike
by SomecallmeMichelle
Summary: Elsa is a writer, who has writer block and goes looking for a muse in the night life of her city...but she could get more than she bargained for. T for a specific heavy subject. ELSANNA


Elsa looked at the open file on her laptop. It was a brand new laptop, the keys in the keyboard still had their ink, it still shone brightly and it wasn't cluttered with junk programs and discarded story ideas. It had been offered by the publisher of her books as a friendly gift, or so they told. No, Elsa knew the truth, the truth that was far less innocent.

It was a veiled request, a question in its item form. - "When will you hand over the manuscript?" - and worse, a "Will it take long?"

Elsa groaned, pressing her groomed hands onto the metal desk. It was cold to the touch and she allowed the feeling of the cooler metal against her skin to soothe her thoughts. She had been trying for hours. It just didn't come.

Not for a lack of effort though, Elsa had been, as previously stated, trying. She felt a slight ping of anxiety on her. This just wasn't right.

It was not like they asked much of her, just input some of the creative thoughts her mind had no shortage of into written words, edit it quickly and publish it.

Really how hard could it be? To the men in business suits, whose assets were dependent on her, and other writer's works, the plight of the common one, that the muses weren't inspiring them, was one to which they weren't very sympathetic. The words didn't inspire them? They must try harder, or, was it not, a job they were being paid for?

Elsa looked around the slightly cluttered room, it was a common room it had a messy bed, some books, most of them classics, since Elsa didn't allow herself to check the competition, lest she steal some inspiration from them, there were some vestiges of hobbies, like a discarded camera, and her old laptop, which she had so shamelessly abandoned to focus on the new one.

She had thought that maybe a change of scenery would help, and didn't most artists use this kind of computer? Elsa considered herself an artist, not a particularly good one, in her opinion, but an artist nonetheless. She shaped the written world, creating worlds in which people could get lost for hours, or for a couple hundred thousand words, at least.

Not to mention the creativity she inspired in others. But she couldn't think about that now, she had to finish this work.

She tapped her hands against the desk, rhythmically, tap, tap, it went. She was gently biting her lower lip and trying to figure something out. She had ideas in the beginning. - That wasn't the problem, ideas were never the thing that were missing from her day to day writing. In fact she had to convince herself to not start a million projects. - The truth wasn't that she lacked those beginnings, no, the truth was that the thing she didn't have however, were the necessary endings.

Elsa considered writing a dynamic thing, a thing that came from the heart, and couldn't be logically planned out, she came with a general concept, and a character or two, then she let the characters guide her out, exploring the world just as much as the reader would a couple months down the line. It all took a quick edit or two, sure, couldn't pass without those, after the manuscript (or book as she called it, which it really was after it was approved) was finished, but, in general she never planned things out. It was a thing from the brain, that kind of writing analytical rather than dynamic, and Elsa found she was guided by emotions rather than logical thoughts, which just didn't make for a good story as she would claim.

"What am I going to do?" - She asked herself, mouthing the words and releasing them to the gentle air of her room, as if the walls could answer her. She had always heard the walls could hear her, she just didn't expect them to reply.

She waited, of course knowing rationally that no reply would come, but still waiting, it wasn't like she had anything better to do. She was fresh out of ideas.

Elsa was an author of relative fame, she wasn't in the top 10 spots of the best sellers lists, and she wasn't raking in millions, but she had earned enough over each royalty check, not to mention the hefty advancement for her next book, to live a nice life.

Though she wrote about the wonders of love, love wasn't really something in her mind all the time. She let her eyes pierce the wall in front of her, though not literally, she still couldn't see the sky outside.

Maybe that was the problem. She had never had problems writing about love, she understood the feeling, both rationally and emotionally, but she hadn't experienced it in some time, she just had some vague memories from days past when she had dated boys...even some girls in college.

She had gone through college and spent the time discovering herself, it had bettered her writing, she believed. That was her perceived goal, though she was deluding herself, the truth was far more simple, she was young, she was wild, she wanted to have fun.

Her lower lip was losing all color from the pressure she didn't even realise she was holding in, her eyes drifted across the wall, piercing it and imagining horizonts, her fingers were quiet, her nails carefully cut, and her hands pale, as she contemplated just what she needed.

The characters she had created were all very fun in this story of hers, fruit of their age and backstory (which she had devised later down the road)...they said write what you know, and this was a mirror of the reality of her life in college.

But pehaps things had changed in the 10 to 11 years after she had attended college. She moved a hand to her blonde hair. - Christ had it been that long already? She felt her braid touch her back. - Would it have some greying or whitening hairs in that mass of hair? Would her face gain wrinkles?

She tried moving her face muscles, contracting her lips and biting her cheeks. She had thought all the wrinkles had come from preoccupation from not being able to finish the manuscript. Now she was not so sure.

No matter her age, which was now in the 30's, she knew what she needed.

And it wasn't just a drink. The thing she needed was far more difficult to find. It had to be perfect or her work of fiction wouldn't come right.

A muse, she needed a muse.

:

:

She would that she would try the local scene of clubs and night life first.

It was an obvious choice, her mind told her, It was after all where she had had the most gatherings when she was younger, and things couldn't have changed that much.

Indeed she was right, as she paid the entering fee (not even bothering to show id, was she that old?) she found the nightclub was absolutely bundled with activity.

The music playing was some techno babble generated by computer and she had to push people aside to get into the counter of the bar. A task not eased by constantly switching pattern of primal colour lights, and the occasional dark spot.

Young people were in pretty casual outfits, though no doubt those outfits were baring more skin than Elsa in her nostalgia driven thoughts remembered, and she wondered if the dress she was wearing was adequate.

It was light blue in color and while it hugged the skin it didn't show much. It left a lot to the imagination in fact, not the kind of dress that in her opinion would attract much attention.

Elsa stumbled through a particularly thick gathering of people dancing, them pushing their bodies against one another. She was exhausted already, and she hadn't even begun her search. She finally got over to the counter and looked at the waiter.

He was kind of cute, though a bit too young to her taste. She wasn't looking to bring anyone to her house anyway.

She reminded herself of her mission goal, find a muse, talk to her, not a him, interview them , ask a couple of questions about their life, leave, use the information as inspiration.

Not a particularly hard feat to accomplish, at least she hoped so, She wasn't dress to party as she didn't want attention, at least not that kind attention, she hoped to get some attention.

As she set in with her drink she looked at the crowd, again, people pushing against one another could hardly be considered dancing, and she was about to comment on that to no one in particular, since the music was too loud for anyone to hear, when she remembered she had done worse in her time. She shut her half opened mouth, which she had coated with a red lipstick, and took the point.

People occasionally came to take drinks and then left, sharing the drinks with their mates or just sipping them. None paid close attention to Elsa, and she was considering giving up when someone came to talk to her.

"Hey cougar, my name is Hans can I buy you a drink?" - Elsa stared at the man who had offered the proposition to her. He was tall and good looking in a sort of well groomed way, she stared at his fingers, trying to make out the details through the fuzzy lighting. She had this theory that the fingers could tell a lot about the kind of person you are. They were clean and very well groomed, as well groomed as hers in fact. Did this mean this man was some kind of lover to all women? Or just a plain "stud" as it was in her days? Did this mean he simply cared about his looks? Was he vain?

Thoughts like those permeated through Elsa's mind at the speed of a rapidly advancing freight train as she stared at him. He smiled, a sort of charming man smile, his teeth white and perfect, his hand held out to hers, as if inviting her to take it into hers.

What had he called her? Cougar? Well that was certainly something different, and it didn't do a lot to alleviate the feelings of excessive age in her.

It was the smile however that told her the answer to his inquiry, they were cold and calculated, though his attitude was easy going, his eyes were anything but, this was a predator, a man who wanted his women.

Elsa could figure out what he wanted them for easily enough, and she didn't like it, she was here for inspiration, not a physical relationship.

She smiled politely, it was best to let her suitor down politely, lest she hurt his feelings. She would be firm however, there was no point in being a pushover.

"No thank you" - She looked apologetically, her eyes drifting downwards into the cigarette butt filled ground. Didn't they clean this place? - "I'm actually sort of not looking for anything right now."

"U see,..." - The man's eyes looked around, as if thinking of something, before he looked straight at her, smiling. And Elsa realised she was in trouble, for his easygoing smile was now one of pure cruelty. - Wouldn't you?

Wouldn't she? She had said no already! What was she supposed to add to that? She couldn't exactly describe what she was looking for. And unless that man was actually a very boyish girl, he didn't even think he'd suit her purposes anyway.

He moved fast, faster than her mind could register, grabbing her arm. She cast a glance, a wishful longing glance, at the bartender, who was pouring drinks, the young people around them were dancing. There was no one to save her.

She considered screaming, she truly did, but the auburn colored man, who now held a firm grip on her arm, wasn't letting go, and the music was loud. Really who would hear her? She was helpless.

She remembered the words she had heard in an university lectured for young woman a long time ago. "Always be careful, you never know who's a deviant" - She now knew, it wasn't exactly hard to figure out that the figure that held her hand had no good intentions in mind, she was being dragged, she was going to disappear in the crowd along with the man and then what?

She didn't even get to have her drink. - Funny what the mind conjures when it's in danger. But it was true, she had never even touched her drink which sat down where she had left it.

Would people wonder where she had gone to? Probably not, lots of people, who'd notice one missing?

His grip on her arm hurt her, but that was the least of her worries at the moment. It was inconceivable that she had been caught so easily.

Then, as sudden as the grip had started, it stopped, she looked around confused, and found no trace of the boy.

She casted her eyes down and there he was, sprawled on the floor, next to him someone with bright red fiery hair.

She looked at the face of her savior and was surprised to find a girl. She wasn't sexist or anything, she just hadn't expected someone like that, relatively small, frail looking, to knock someone like Hans, whose hands would surely have left a mark on her hand.

"Freaking pig…" - She heard her murmur. Then she realised she was being watched and she smiled grandly, perhaps a smile too big for the shaken Elsa.

"Are you ok?" - She looked at the regal looking Elsa, though she didn't know her name yet, and at the moment she didn't look all that big or formal, or anything but a mess.

Elsa shook her head, unsure of herself, she didn't know. That was the truth, she didn't know, she hadn't been ok 30 seconds ago, and now she was free, but the girl who had apparently knocked the man out. She was grateful for her it was just.

Too much, it was too much and she wasn't afraid to admit that.

Anna smile dropped as she saw just how deeply affected the other girl was, she put a hand to her shoulder and squeezed it reassuringly.

"No, no, no...it's alright."

The shaking was making her feel awkward, which she demonstrated by the uncertainty of her smile.

"I'm not good with people…" - She admitted, while still having her arm spread out to provide some human heat to the girl. - "But I'm here,"

Elsa, despite herself, smiled, though there were fresh tears in her eyes. Her voice came out slurred due to the shakiness and emotion of it, and it was higher pitched than she would have liked, not that she cared at the moment.

"Thank you…"

They both cast a glance to the knocked out boy, who was sprawled out into the disgusting floor, Elsa thought that that suited him, hopefully his mouth would taste like ashes when he woke up.

"No problem! I'm Anna by the way!" - Anna's voice was excited, and she toned it down once she saw the other girl giving her a weird look, that was similar to the one she always had before crying, something the other girl had already done. - "I saw what was going on, luckily I know how to throw a punch!"

Elsa resumed smiling.

"Where did you learn to throw a punch like that anyway?" - She wondered, curiously.

"Oh it was one of the classes I took…" - Anna's mind went very far away from the situation. - "Along with writing classes, yoga, bakery, gardening…"

The list went on and on, it seemed to Elsa as though the other girl had decided to try a little bit of everything and she was as random as they came. Though she didn't say anything to her savior.

One thing in particular stood out though.

"You said writing? You like writing?"

Anna's stream of words was cut out as she opened her mouth to reply, Elsa noticed for the first time the color of the other girl's eyes, they were blue, and while not the deepest tone of blue,, it suited her.

"Oh yeah, I tried it but I'm not too good at it"

Interesting. Maybe she could invite her over and give her a few tips...as a way to thank her, of course, nothing weird about that.

"What did you try to write?"

"Oh you know….romance and stuff"

Elsa's brow furrowed in concentration, the girl had saved her skin, she deserved some sort of reward.

"How about I give you some first edition autographed books of Elsa of Arendelle? I…" - She stammered., maybe revealing who she was wasn't such a good idea. - "Know the author."

Anna too went into concentration mode, as if trying to remember something.

"Oh my gosh!" - She said finally, Elsa had always thought "Oh my gosh" was a stupid sentence, but coming from the lips of the other girl, Anna, it sounded delightful. - "I know who you are!"

Busted, Elsa smiled softly as she urged the other.

"Don't tell anyone"

As if understanding the need for secrecy, Anna nodded.

Suddenly Elsa reminded herself of why she had been put into this situation in the first place.

"Hey can I ask you a few questions?"

Anna moved her shoulders up and down, shrugging.

"Sure, I guess."

She had found her muse.

:

:

 _She looked at him as he prepared to talk_

" _I guess you could say, it was love at first strike." - The boy grinned, as he looked into the distance._

The editor looked at Elsa after finishing the manuscript, this was quite possibly the best book by her yet, it would be very well worth the extra money they had spent on her laptop.

"My God, Elsa, how do you come up with this stuff?"

Elsa thought to the girl awaiting her at home, something she had done for the past 3 months, dressed only in a comfy piece.

"I guess you could say, I live the characters."

 **The end**


End file.
